


Catacombs

by Dame_Syrup (mary_pseud)



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Episode: s16e01 The Ribos Operation, F/M, Hallucinations, Kinkmeme, M/M, Military Kink, Rarepair, mention of rape & pillage, the key to time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 16:16:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17963879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mary_pseud/pseuds/Dame_Syrup
Summary: For the kinkmeme prompt: Graff Vynda-K/Sholakh, Victory Celebration





	Catacombs

The Graff Vynda-K staggered through the darkness of the Ribos catacombs, cold and filthy, battered body and soul. His dreams of reclaiming the Levithian crown, taking the glory his battles had earned, had been shattered here.

No, he swore to himself, feeling the dust puff out from his moustache as his lips moved, silently. No, he would survive this, he would prevail! His numbed fingers clutched the sack containing the jethrik to his side. With this he could buy the contracts of a thousand thousand Shalankie mercenaries, and a hundred Pontonese battleships to carry them.

His mind ran hot with his future: building a new fighting force with Sholakh at his side (why was Sholakh not here now? Unimportant, he would be there; he had always been there) and burning this filthy primitive planet down to the bedrock. Returning to his planet and casting his half-brother from his stolen throne; he'd have his head on a pikestaff, and all those treacherous ministers and Council members dripping dead with him, and any Alliance filth who dared try and defy him! The people would weep tears of joy at his return, the return of their true ruler! They would willingly serve him, build him the spaceships and warriors that he needed.

He imagined an empire, planets at his fingertips like gleaming gems, cities in flames, loot and conquest. The spoils of war: power, wealth, lands and mines and cities, women eager to please their conquerors, baring themselves to him, giving him absolute power over their trembling forms. Rutting, him and Sholakh and his Invincibles, all of them wet and sweating, laughing, sharing wine and flesh and pleasure. Plunging into wet mouths and between shuddering thighs, planting his seed again and again, sating himself.

And later, in the darkness of the night, he would reach his true release. The familiar touch of Sholakh's leather-gloved hands, the unbearable pleasure of his scarred and whiskered face brushing the sensitive skin between his shoulder blades, as he pierced Graff and drove him through the gates of war's paradise. It had been that way between them, since he had been a man barely fledged: who would he turn to for guidance in the uncertain world of pleasure except to the man who had taught him all he knew of war?

And later he would kneel for Sholakh, sup from his flesh, suck him and drink his seed; it was the seed of a warrior, and to share it was no weakness. They would wrestle naked, testing sinew and bone and muscle against each other, and ever the loser would feel as much pleasure as the winner as he mounted or bent, as their whim took them. In the heady darkness they would explore each other, grasp and sweat and strive and swear eternal loyalty with each burst of pleasure.

They would be together, in darkness or in light, in temporary defeat or eternal victory. Why, Sholakh was here now, he could see his stalwart form at his side, hear the armies waiting for his call.

"Sholakh!" he shouted, hearing the roar, the clash of weapons, the screech of energy bolts and the thunder of warship the size of moons. "Sholakh! To me! To me!"

He staggered on, the cold now the cold of space around his powered armour, the growling of the loose stones overhead the passage of his forces, and the faithful shade of Sholakh at his side, even now, at the end, until the very end.


End file.
